


Some mistakes are worth it.

by porgdameron



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Artist Grantaire, Florist Enjolras, Happy Ending, Language of Flowers, Light Angst, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 12:51:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10697385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/porgdameron/pseuds/porgdameron
Summary: Some mistakes produce the most beautiful bouquets.Grantaire just wants to buy the most beautiful bouquet for Enjolras, but doesn't really stick to his plan.





	Some mistakes are worth it.

He was finally going to tell him. He wasn't going to _say_ it, of course, he would never do that. He tried so often, yet he could never say the words. So what do you do when you want to confess your love to an ridiculously handsome guy who cares way too much about flower language?  
You buy a fucking expensive bouquet that basically screams 'I love you, idiot.'  
He assumed that the florists in an expensive flower shop would know about such things like flower language. So he had saved a lot of money to buy the best 'I fucking love you' bouquet on earth, simply because Enjolras deserved to get the best flowers.  
Everything went according to his genius plan until he realized that the florist in the most expensive flower shop in town was, in fact, Enjolras himself.  
Maybe he should've asked him _where_ he was working. Maybe that would have been smart.  
But now he was the only customer in a really expensive flower shop, staring at an equally surprised Enjolras. And, fuck, he did look cute when he was surprised.  
"I didn't know you were interested in flowers, R," he said, finally.  
"Well...there's this guy who is...really...annoying and...he cares a lot about flowers. So I wanted to ask you, an expert in flower language, to...make a bouquet that literally says...'Fuck you'."  
_Well done, Grantaire. Well done._  
He had panicked and fucked up and he knew it. There was no escape now. He had to buy a fucking bouquet that literally screams 'Fuck you.'  
Enjolras looked at him in shock.  
"Uhm...I guess you would need...geraniums, they mean stupidity. Foxglove means insincerity. Meadowsweet is uselessness, yellow carnations mean 'You have disappointed me.' And, last but not least, you would need orange lilies. Hatred."  
He really had taken that request seriously.  
"Great! So, how much would that be?"  
_Oh god, you're really doing this, you stupid piece of shit._  
"About...$69, I think. Do you really want to buy something like this? Surely there are other ways to tell someone that they're an asshole," Enjolras answered, chuckling lightly.  
"Yes, I'm sure, Enj."  
A while later, he walked out of the flower shop with the best 'Fuck you' bouquet on earth, which was also the worst 'I love you' bouquet on the entire planet.  


* * *

  
There are some things every florist has to do regularly. Arrangements for weddings and funerals, bouquets for birthdays and dates.  
'Fuck you' bouquets are not as common.  
He had honestly expected Grantaire to buy a bouquet for a date when he walked in. Maybe he had grown tired of one night stands, finally found a girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.  
And then he asked for a bouquet that meant the complete opposite of 'I love you'. Enjolras spent the rest of the day wondering who had hurt his friend in a way that would make him buy flowers like these. You don't really give flowers that mean _hatred_ to someone who hurt you slightly.  
He kept thinking. Does Grantaire have many friends who love flowers and would understand the bouquet he had carefully put together? What if _he_ had hurt his friend, hence the shocked expression when he walked into the shop? Would he get a giant yet beautiful 'Fuck you' made out of flowers the next time they met? Enjolras went over everything he had said to his friend in the last few weeks.  
_Great, I have fucked up and I didn't even notice, heck, I still don't know what I did wrong. I am a horrible friend._  
He spent an entire day feeling bad for something he didn't even remember doing.  


* * *

  
He kept staring at the bouquet he had bought. He kept thinking of ways to tell Enjolras that the 'Fuck you' bouquet is supposed to be more like a 'I want to fuck you' kind of thing. He was going to fuck it up and he knew it. Grantaire didn't sleep that night; he just lay in bed, thinking about all the times he had fucked up while trying to tell Enjolras that he loved him. He thought about all the times he had annoyed him when he just didn't know how to put his feelings into words. Surely he would fuck it up again. Surely he would ruin everything. Nothing good ever happened to him. This would be no exception.  
Enjolras, the fucking perfect guy, would never love him.  


* * *

  
"Fuck you, Enjolras. Fuck you and your perfect face. Fuck you and your handsomeness. Fuck you and your body that looks like it belongs to a fucking God. Fuck you and the way you make me feel...the way you make me feel _love_ ," he said, shoving the bouquet into his hands.  
He stared at his friends and at the flowers in his hands. Enjolras didn't know what to say - it was actually a cute way of expressing your feelings. An unusual way, for sure, but it was cute.  
However, the shock prevented him from saying any of this.  
He just stared at his friend - at his _crush_ \- until Grantaire left, heartbroken. It was too late to say anything now, so he just watched as his friend left the café.  
He could feel the questioning looks of their friends. He could feel their confusion.  
But he was, quite literally, speechless.  
How could Grantaire love him back? He must have actually listened to his endless rants about flower languages and why _you really shouldn't buy those flowers for a funeral, buy the other ones instead! Yes, they aren't as beautiful, but their meaning makes much more sense for this occasion!_  
Grantaire actually went out and bought a bouquet with a _meaning_ and he had been an absolute fucking idiot and just stared at him.  
Enjolras had never felt so bad in his entire life. He regretted everything he'd done that day, from coming to the meeting to just staring as the love of his life walked away, his heart broken.  


* * *

  
Alcohol had always been his only friend. The only thing that had really managed to help him every time he had problems was a quite problematic fluid.  
How could he have thought that Enjolras could actually like him? Surely he just pretended to be his friend out of pity. Maybe he was just too polite to reject him like everyone else had and was forced to stick around him.  
Alcohol couldn't be a fake friend.  
Enjolras had rejected him like everyone else; maybe he was supposed to be lonely. Maybe he was supposed to die alone and miserable. Maybe it would take weeks until someone found his corpse because nobody missed him. Maybe nobody would show up at his funeral.  
Perhaps people would be glad if he was finally gone.  
And so he drowned his problems in a lot alcohol.  


* * *

  
He was finally going to tell him. He wasn't going to _say_ it, of course, he would never do that. He tried so often, yet he could never say the words.  
Enjolras was putting together a bouquet that screamed 'I love you'.  
Roses. Red ones, passionate love. White ones, eternal love. Pink ones, perfect happiness. Without thorns. Love at first sight.  
Primrose and buttercup, the innocence of a first love. Honeysuckle, the embrace of your lover's arms. Hyacinths, the depth of sincerity and constancy in love.  
Star of Bethlehem. _I'm sorry._  
The perfect bouquet for a perfect human.  
He was sending him a bouquet, an apology, his own love confession. Of course, he added a note explaining the meaning of each flower and what he wanted to express with this:  
_I love you, Grantaire. I was merely speechless because I did not expect you, the person I love the most, to love me back. I'm sorry for hurting you._  
He hoped that his friend would accept this apology. He didn't know if he could live with the guilt of having broken his crush's heart.  


* * *

  
These flowers weren't real. Even if they were, Enjolras would have never sent them. He hated him, why would he send him such a wonderful bouquet?  
He couldn't help but hope that maybe, _maybe_ Enjolras had sent these flowers. He grabbed his phone and began typing.  
_Did you send me flowers?_  
After staring at the message for a while, he hit send. The flowers were stunning, an abundance of roses and other white and yellow flowers. It was beautiful, even the meaning was beautiful. It was the opposite of the bouquet he had given his friend.  
It couldn't be real.  
Could it?  
  
When he woke up from his nap, the flowers were still there - surprisingly. Grantaire wasn't sure whether he should take a look at his phone and be disappointed. No, he was going to draw the flowers first, to preserve their beauty. They were too beautiful (and probably too expensive) to be wasted by letting them wilt without keeping their beauty alive in some other way.  
Maybe the people that were going to find his corpse would see the painting, see the wilted flowers and _know_.  
He didn't get to the actual _painting_ part, though. Midway through the sketching process, curiosity made him take a look at his phone. A new message from Enj ♥. His fingers started shaking and he tapped on the small speech bubble icon to open the message.  
_Yes. Do you like them?_  
They were his flowers. He really had sent them. Grantaire wouldn't have exaggerated if he had claimed that this was certainly the best day of his life.  
_Of course I do._  
No simple text message in the world would have been able to express the cocktail of emotions he felt in that moment: happiness, relief, a tiny bit of regret. He shouldn't have walked out of the meeting like that, without letting Enjolras speak. But it was too late now and maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all.  
If he hadn't fucked up then, he wouldn't have been holding that beautiful bouquet. Some mistakes are worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this post: https://cupidsbower.tumblr.com/post/145960730310/flower-shop-au  
> Disclaimer: Don't give your crush a 'Fuck you' bouquet. They might not appreciate it.  
> I might write a second chapter to this if you want me to and, most importantly, if I have enough time. School is hell.


End file.
